


Dressed Down

by universalgleam



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, Crossdressing, First Time, High School, M/M, Prom, Very OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 18:19:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6340159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universalgleam/pseuds/universalgleam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything in him screams RUN, tells him push him away but like always before, he doesn’t know why. So he… doesn’t. Maybe it’s defiance, maybe it’s just how fucking sad the boy before him sounds as he questions him. Questions everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dressed Down

**Author's Note:**

> * I DON’T KNOW WHERE THE FUCK THIS CAME FROM *
> 
> (remember kids, alcohol helps you express your deepest feelings and desires in totally appropriate ways!)

“Don’t touch me! You’re such a dick.”

Obi-Wan smirks, removing his hand from Anakin’s shoulder nonetheless.

Maybe he _is_ a dick, but there’s not many things as entertaining as pissing off his best friend. And it’s not every day that said best friend is stood before him in nothing more than a huge, blue, lacy prom dress.

Not willing to let this particular joke go quite yet, he adopts a swooning, lovesick voice. “Oh, but Anakin, you’re so–”

“ _Shut it_ , Kenobi. You know, this could’ve easily been you. _Should’ve_ been you.”

“I’m sure you’d have _loved_ to see me in that dress.”

Anakin rolls his eyes. “Sure. Anything to be _out_ of this fucking thing, honestly. It itches! And it’s so _tight_!” He scratches at his side, where the zipper is digging into his ribs. “Why’d you get to pick the dress, anyway? There were some _much_ nicer ones at the store. Breathable ones!”

“I’m the one who has to look at you all night, aren’t I?”

The younger boy moves to hit the side of his head, but Obi-Wan ducks just in time. They both break out into fits of laughter – at the redhead’s near-supernatural agility, at the armpit hair quite apparent at the edges of Anakin’s strapless dress; at the situation in its entirety.

The moment is refreshing for them both; it’s been quite some time since things have been so lighthearted.

☼ ☼

There are two things occupying the air around them tonight.

Firstly, there’s the bet.

It was a stupid decision, maybe, because fuck, Anakin had _known_ it would be close. Any competition between them would be, really – except in situations involving mechanics or repairs, at which Anakin excelled, or those requiring respect towards others, of which Anakin had none. But overwhelmingly, in contests physical or mental (both were frequent), the two were evenly matched. Others (most often Padmé) even noted that watching them run was a surreal experience; their bodies seemed to move in tandem, joined by some invisible thread. The slightest misstep could cost one the win.

But this race had been different; borne of boredom and a long streak of ties, of flame wars dissolved by laughter and sheer longevity rather than the perfect insult, it involved Anakin on his skateboard, Obi-Wan on his bike, and ten blocks of busy city street.

(For anyone else, such a contest was sure to end in at least one injury; but not for Skywalker and Kenobi.)

Though Anakin’s choice to use the sidewalk had kept him in a slight lead throughout the whole thing (while Obi-Wan was occasionally blocked by cars), it was also his eventual downfall; trapped behind a slow-moving family in the last half-block, he was forced to watch, immobilized, as the older boy flew through a yellow light, hands up in the air in a silent cheer.

The bet was more public than the ones before it. Loser wears a dress to prom.

It wasn’t quite humiliating, and both boys, if pressed, would admit it was a bit fun. Besides, even arriving to prom in the same _car_ was bound to draw whispers – ever since Anakin had come out as bisexual back in February, the past year’s incessant rumors that he and Obi-Wan were _more than friends_ had returned with a vengeance.

Neither could tell if it bothered them or simply gave them ideas.

☼ ☼

Almost all of Anakin’s complaints or Obi-Wan’s taunts tonight will end in a smile. The real trial will remain unspoken till much later.

That’s the second _thing_ that hangs between them – the _tension._ Embarrassingly, neither can place just when it started. Anakin knew it had been present when he was still dating Padmé; Obi-Wan knew it’d existed even before either of them started smoking. Regardless, it is here, now, crowding up Anakin’s mom’s car, so thick it might just choke the both of them.

Anakin had insisted on Fugazi for the car ride there ( _“We’re not gonna hear anything worth listening to for the next four hours!”_ ) and it only serves to pique Obi-Wan’s anxiety further. _Someday that asshole will crack_ _and let me play_ my _music._

It’s understandable, though; at this point, the older boy knows most people don’t much like listening to Wilco or Sufjan Stevens before a night out.

 _Is this a night out,_ he wonders?

Well, they are, at least in appearance, very much a duo, so perhaps it is. If not that, the alcohol surely qualifies it as one – Anakin’s got a nicely-sized bottle of raspberry Svedka under the passenger’s seat and it’s sure to be empty by nine P.M.

Alcohol. _Ugh._ Obi-Wan knows it will be fun, has no problem with drinking in _principle_ – but he knows already to indulge with Anakin will likely be a mistake. Despite how close they are, and how often they hang out, they’ve only drank together once, and for good reason: the night had ended abruptly when, laughing incredulously after outright failing a Guitar Hero song, Anakin had leant in and very nearly _kissed_ his best friend. Even stoned, they have the sense not to repeat any of this – too lethargic, maybe, and Anakin’s half-joking pick-up lines always fall flat.

It’s certain, at least in Obi-Wan’s sober mind, that drinking with the younger boy can only lead to trouble.

Besides, he needs more time to digest that night, though it’s been months now - he still tenses up every time he hears _Sunshine of Your Love_.

☼ ☼

All in all, they’re only inside for ten minutes at most before Anakin’s already pulling everyone outside to his car – the front-door chaperones have fucked off, predictably. It’s not a huge crowd – Bail, Padmé and a couple of her friends – but that’s still enough to make Obi-Wan nervous.

It hadn’t been that bad, really, not yet at least. Anakin was definitely receiving more whistles than taunts, and even those were all in jest. No “ _fag_ ”s or “ _queer_ ”s yet – he only hopes it lasts.

Obi-Wan’s three swigs in but his best friend’s definitely had at least five; he’s expressive, eyes bright, tight dress not even restricting the wild gestures typical to his speech. It’s amazing, really – he’s only a sophomore, yet among these upperclassmen, even himself and Bail as seniors, Anakin is in total control. Maybe it’s only when he’s inebriated. Obi-Wan certainly hasn’t been paying enough attention while sober.

With the vodka down to a couple shots’ worth, the group thins as all but the two head back inside the school.

Anakin hops up on the hood of the car, motioning for the older boy to follow him.

“Did you have to wear the Superstars? You’re a bit mismatched.”

“Would you rather I’d worn heels? You’re already _tiny_ compared to me.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Each downs half the remaining liquor; they talk drunkenly, forgetfully, for twenty more minutes.

Their hands bump, pinkies pressing together on the cool metal. Neither one can speak.

☼ ☼

Back inside the sweaty, packed gym, it’s a blissful hour of thoughtless dancing. Anakin goes absolutely wild to _Dancing Queen,_ and sometime in the storm of Chris Brown hits from five years back, Obi-Wan’s jacket is off to the side, sleeves rolled up. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but he’s having _fun._ Well, whenever his mind will let him relax.

He worries someone else will notice the way his eyes can’t seem to leave Anakin’s toned biceps – someone. Anyone. Anakin. _Nobody can know._

 _Why is that,_ he asks himself?

_I don’t know why. But nobody can know._

Unfortunately, nine P.M. brings with it the night’s (unavoidable) downfall – Anakin’s first attempted fight.

 _They seem to be happening much more frequently lately,_ Obi-Wan thinks.

Strangely, though, Anakin is not dodging insults to his dress, as the older thought he would be. It’s about him. It’s about _Obi-Wan_.

He doesn’t know the kid’s name, though he’s seen him around before – some senior, not too popular but with a clique of his own nonetheless. His face is nearly as ugly as his words–

“So, Kenobi, coming out of the closet _slowly,_ then?”

Obi-Wan grits his teeth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The boy smirks. “Oh, I’m sure you do. You two fags clearly think it’s not _gay_ if one of you’s dressed up like a _girl_ –”

“Shut up, you fucking lunatic–” (Anakin can’t be silent for long) “–just, just go fuck off!”

His words are surprisingly composed – his fist, though, is slowed by the alcohol, and the bully easily ducks to the side, leaving Anakin’s fist to slam full-force into the brick of the hallway wall.

“ _Fuck!_ ”

“Nice one. We’ll leave you boys to it, then. Enjoy your night.” It’s all said with a devious smirk, and Obi-Wan feels rage boil inside him – though quickly subdued. He refocuses his energy and grips Anakin, wringing his hand out with a wince, by the elbow.

He sighs. “C’mon, idiot, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Anakin doesn’t protest. He leans on him the whole walk down the hallway to the bathroom, as though he’s been wounded in battle.

☼ ☼

Scoffing at his friend’s behavior, Obi-Wan swats Anakin’s hand away from the mirror, where he’s swirling patterns with a bit of his blood. “Are you stupid? Don’t put your blood all over everything.” Despite his annoyance with the situation they’re in, he’s still drunk, and can’t quite gather his words.

Before he can protest, Anakin’s already wiping his still-bleeding knuckles on the skirt of the dress. He catches him as he stares – “What? There’s no paper towels in the, the– thing.”

“Yeah, but it’s still unsanitary.”

“You’re funny, you know? I think you’re funny.” Anakin leans against the wall, crossing his arms across his chest. _Oh God, it’s like he’s_ trying _to get me to stare._

Obi-Wan swallows, suddenly feeling all too warm even with his jacket gone. “What d’you mean?”

“You– you’re, well. You. And I don’t, I don’t…” He chuckles and turns his head to the side, “I don’t think you’re stupid. I think you know what’s going on.”

He answers too quickly and he knows it. “I _don’t_ know what’s going on.”

“Yes you do.” Head turned back, blue eyes meet sea-green. “You feel it too, don’t you?” And now he’s pushing himself off the wall, sealing the three steps needed to bring him close enough to breathe right onto Obi-Wan’s face – “You feel it too, right?”

 _Everything_ in him screams _RUN_ , tells him _push him away_ but like always before, he _doesn’t know why._ So he… doesn’t. Maybe it’s defiance, maybe it’s just how fucking _sad_ the boy before him sounds as he questions him. Questions _everything._

He can barely get out a whisper of “ _Anakin_ ” before the younger boy outright pounces on him.

Fleetingly, worry is there, still omnipresent in Obi-Wan’s mind – _Anakin is only sixteen!_ But it’s so meaningless, now, all of it. He simply can’t help himself. In fact, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to let himself say _no_ to Anakin again.

Christ, he’s good at it, though. Kissing. It never seemed so fine an art to the older boy, only ever enjoying the few he shared with Siri back in freshman year, before she’d moved away. This is different. It’s so strange, because Anakin is in one moment totally controlling, leading him, and in the next so beautifully pliant, though not quite limp in his arms – in fact, suddenly, Obi-Wan finds himself pushed backwards into the largest stall, Anakin’s hand (still sore, he notes as the younger boy winces again) reaching behind him to secure the lock.

As if that will hide whatever happens here.

He’s pulled against the wall – Anakin wants _him_ to lead, now, it would seem. So he does. He’s hard and he pushes against his best friend’s hip and feels something waiting for him beneath layers of chiffon. _Fuck._ Anakin is hard for him. _Anakin is hard for me._

Despite the common sense he could _swear_ is still in there somewhere, he blurts the thought out anyway. Well, whispers it – can’t quite recall his voice being that smooth before. “ _Is that for me?_ ”

“Mmhmmmmm,” Anakin moans out, low and breathy. Just gorgeous. He ruts up against Obi-Wan’s leg, both still fully clothed, and suddenly it’s not enough.

His fingers are nimble on the button, the zip. Before he can count to five, there’s a hand right _there_ – gripping Obi-Wan. Oh, and he’s _good_ at it, too! Gentle but firm, all cliché and it’s–

–still not enough. Never enough. Not yet.

The last shred of sanity is gone, now, when in one motion Obi-Wan hikes up Anakin’s gigantic dress, shoves his boxers down, and grips him right back.

They move together for quite some time. It’s almost romantic – Anakin whispers in his ear, “ _Always knew you wanted me,_ ” only for Obi-Wan to shoot back “ _You wanted me_ more.”

In the end, a strong bite to his earlobe is what sends him over the edge, the younger boy following soon after. Anakin, still drunk – on vodka and adrenaline and the mad rush of _anybody could walk in_ – sucks it all off his own fingers, humming at the taste.

☼ ☼

_Things will never be the same._

It is a melancholy thought, to be sure. Gone, perhaps, are the easy days of video games and movies, a foot of distance between them on the couch. But with it goes the tension, _right_? With it goes uncertainty and the way that all his crushes were somehow _settling_ and thinking no one can ever make him happy – because maybe, just maybe, Anakin can.

They kiss languidly for a few short moments before washing up at the sinks, guilty smiles plastered on their flushed faces.

It’s mutually decided they must leave the dance, then; Obi-Wan’s last, though Anakin will have many more to enjoy, to rebel at, to break down at. _Hopefully not to do what_ we _just did_.

Anakin lets Obi-Wan play Sufjan on the car ride back. At his house, they sit on the roof and watch late-night planes landing and taking off, hands loosely clasped, safe under cover of the night.

Obi-Wan sees a shooting star for the first time in his life.

Five minutes later, he has his first ‘goodnight’ kiss. Reminding Anakin to drive safely, he drags himself inside, going through all his routine motions with the most ridiculous smile on his face.

He’s alone in his bed, but not his mind; he dreams of an ocean, a sea of fabric, in which cerulean lace melts away to nothing but a pair of deep blue eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> not very happy with this, i might revise it... any suggestions are c o o l


End file.
